


Season of Mists and Mellow Fruitfulness

by verger_de_pommiers



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Amnesia, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Love at First Sight, M/M, Modern Era, Reincarnation, Romance, Sort Of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-13
Updated: 2020-10-13
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:02:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26991859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verger_de_pommiers/pseuds/verger_de_pommiers
Summary: He mostly ignored them anyway, the letters. They were addressed to Thaniel Hopkirk, the name his mother gave him, but that was not his name.-OR Merlin's life is controlled. He works at his bookshop and goes home in the evenings. He doesn't like strangers or making new friends or getting involved. That is, until his colleague's nephew comes to stay in the village and Merlin finds himself inexplicably drawn to the newcomer.
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 18
Kudos: 102





	Season of Mists and Mellow Fruitfulness

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I'm very nervous to post this story, because it means a lot to me. I'm fairly new to the Merlin fandom (this is only my third fic!) but already I know it's the nicest, sweetest place to be. In terms of trigger warnings, there are VERY mild references to the following: depression, medication for depression, failed therapy attempts, injury, difficult recovery of injury, panic attacks. Again, these are only lightly touched on, but please be kind to yourself.
> 
> The title is from PG Wodehouse. I own nothing!

_Where do the vanes and towers of Camelot  
And tall Tintagel crumble? Where do those tragic  
Lovers and their bright-eyed ladies rot?  
We cannot tell - for lost is Merlin’s magic._  
\- Francis Brett Young

Autumn had set in early that year and it was still dark when he rose at dawn and slipped sleepily down the stairs. Despite the bills that lay cluttered beneath the letterbox, he turned on the kitchen light and put the kettle on. He mostly ignored them anyway, the letters. They were addressed to Thaniel Hopkirk, the name his mother gave him, but that was not his name. That name always felt like an ill-fitting coat. Out of respect to his mother, who had named him after a great-uncle that had died in the war, he had not had it legally changed. But, for him, his name was always Merlin. Merlin and Merlin only, because even Hopkirk felt wrong.

He had never known his father anyway.

Steam from the kettle hid the garden from view and, holding his cup of tea, Merlin crossed the kitchen and wiped a hand over the window glass. A layer of fog clung to the fields outside, skimming the tufty hedges. The berries in the garden were beaded with droplets. Blowing on his cup, Merlin took a sip and watched the sparrows swoop down to pick the grass for fallen seeds.

In the quiet, he padded to his room and changed out of his pyjamas into something warm - a woollen cardigan and thick, woolly socks - before gathering his keys and the lunch he’d made the previous night. Outside, the air was crisp. As the sun rose, pooling gold through the trees, the fog cleared. His little book shop looked cold and lonely with all the lights out. Merlin shivered his way into the village, past the market square, and hurriedly let himself into his shop. He went about setting up for the day: turning on the lights, raising the curtains, and putting the sign out, before putting on the kettle. His assistant, Mr Black, would be arriving soon and was very keen on his morning brew. Merlin got the sugar out in preparation.

Mr Black was a kind old fellow with round, red cheeks, who didn’t seem to mind that his boss was half his age. As Merlin settled behind the counter with a book and two steaming mugs, Mr Black bustled inside and waved happily at Merlin.

‘Ta, lad,’ he said when Merlin pushed his mug further across the counter towards him. ‘I’ve been right busy this morning and this is only my second cup would you believe?’

He took his green waterproof and disappeared for a moment before reappearing with a relieved sigh.

‘Is everything alright?’ Merlin asked.

‘Oh aye,’ he said after a slurping sip. ‘Just my nephew. Do you keep up with the footie?’

‘Not really,’ Merlin said as he fiddled with the keys for the safe. Despite his three years at the book shop, he always, without fail, got the wrong key. ‘Ah,’ he said when he finally got the safe open.

‘Sport not your thing, is it?’

‘Um, yeah never really got into it.’

Resting his tea on one of the shelves, Mr Black took out a book and placed it in the shelf below. Mr Black had a good eye for noticing when a customer had misplaced a book. This one looked like _Nicholas Nickleby_ in the Horror section.

‘Me neither lad, if I’m honest, though my nephew’d never speak to me again if he knew it. He’s a professional, you know. Plays for a proper team and all. I’ve seen him on the telly. But he had an injury not too long ago. A bad’un, and uh…’ He trailed off.

‘Mr Black?’

‘Well, the poor lad can’t play anymore. My sister’s dead worried. Arthur’s adopted you see, had a bad start till my sister found him and he’s more precious to her than words can say. She’s seen his dark moods, but this is different, she says. Hasn’t uttered a word in weeks, all through his recovery. Anyway, she thought he might like a change, might do him good up here in the country. How anyone can live in that smoke is beyond me. You ever been to London, Merlin?’

‘Uh, yeah. Once or twice.’

Mr Black nodded.

‘Enough for a lifetime I’d say. Well, I’ve been getting the house ready for Arthur. He’s coming today. Rather pushed into it I don’t doubt. Him, I mean. We haven’t spent much time together.’ Merlin watched Mr Black’s hands fidget around his cup. ‘Bit nervous actually. I hope he’ll like Tammy.’

Tammy was Mr Black’s border collie. When Mr Black was at the shop, Tammy went to the farm on Fisher Hills to help with the sheep and release some of her collie energy.

‘Who wouldn’t?’ Merlin said. Before he could say anymore, the bell chimed and a customer stepped in. Merlin was glad of it. He could see that Mr Black was shaken by his nephew’s injury and knew he should offer some sort of comfort, say something kind, but he had no idea what to say. He didn’t know when this began, this emptiness. It was better not to think about it.

-

At lunchtime, Mr Black left for the day. The village was small and visitors were scarce, so the shop never got busy. Merlin had offered Mr Black full hours, but the man was happy to work part-time. Merlin suspected he was only there to pass the days. According to conversations Merlin had overheard between customers, Mr Black was the type that never stopped. He had several hobbies and was part of a number of clubs - the amateur village theatre troupe being one of them. On a number of occasions, Mr Black had tried to rope Merlin into at least one of them.

‘Perhaps you’ll meet someone,’ he had said.

‘At the Maybury village knit and stitch club?’

‘Well.’

Merlin always refused. Mr Black was used to it now, and no longer asked.

Cucumber slices slipped from Merlin’s sandwich and he huffed, leaving them on his plate. He had never really got used to the taste anyway. His mother’s exasperated voice followed him everywhere when it came to buying food for himself, picking out vegetables and fruit even when it seemed entirely unnatural to do so. Merlin couldn’t explain it.

‘They’re potatoes, Thaniel. Everyone likes potatoes,’ she’d say.

‘But they’re weird, Mum,’ he’d reply.

It wasn’t that he disliked cucumbers or potatoes, or even strawberries. They just felt wrong in his mouth.

As he was finishing the last of his sandwich, a sound drew his eyes to the window. Through the glass he saw Mr Black walking slowly along the cobbled street with a suitcase rolling behind him, shortly followed by a man with crutches. The man had a frown. His brow was creased beneath his gold hair, and he had his eyes on the ground.

A crash sent Merlin jumping backwards. By his feet lay large shards of what used to be his plate. He had not even realised that he had stood up from his chair. Feverishly, he looked back to the window, but Mr Black and his nephew were gone. Merlin pressed a shaky hand to his chest. Blinking, he sat down. His chest was heaving. He thought about clearing the pieces of plate away, but his skin felt cold. Dazedly, he wondered if he was coming down with something. He brushed hair out of his eyes and tried to get his breathing to slow down.

After a long moment, he finally got up and picked up the pieces of his smashed plate before carrying it to the bin in the back. Things like that had happened before, things breaking or lights going out, strange unexplainable things Merlin had long since accepted. He could do things other people couldn’t. So what? People could do lots of other things that he couldn’t do. But this…he had stood up without knowing it. He had probably just caught the plate with his arm or something.

When he returned to the shop floor, he went straight for the children’s section. The children’s section was always a nightmare, no matter what. Even if only one child had been into the shop, somehow that corner always ended up a mess. Merlin was glad. He needed the distraction. He stooped over, focusing on re-organising the books first. Sometimes it was best to just start from scratch. He spent a full fifteen minutes searching for _Winnie-the-Pooh_ before finding it underneath the shelf. Plucking it out, tongue between his teeth, he also found a tiny ballet shoe. Just one.

‘Who do you belong to?’

The shoe stared back at him. There was a ballet studio not far from the shop. It was run by Mrs Hellio and her daughter, Rosie, who Mr Black had made not one but two failed attempts to set Merlin up with. Merlin thought about dropping it off there on his way home, but thought better of it. Hopefully a parent would notice it was missing and come back for it.

Merlin went on clearing the section, picking up the stuffed toys and arranging them on the top of the shelf. The wizard, he noticed with a sigh, had a smudge of marmalade on his cheek. He stood, going for the sink in the back before returning with a sponge. As he scrubbed the marmalade away, he thought of the ballet shoe. How long had it been there? Perhaps the child had grown too big for it now.

-

It was not yet dark when Merlin locked up but the sky was hidden by swathes of grey cloud that threatened rain. His stomach growled. He thought of his cupboard at home. Nothing inside it appealed to him, and when he thought of what he might want, nothing came to mind. His mother would call it being “down in the dumps.”

‘You need a hobby,’ she’d say. ‘That’ll snap you out of it.’

He opened the front door and switched the hall light on, dumping his rucksack on the welcome mat.

The content of the cupboard didn’t change, no matter how much he stared at it. He eyed the bread he’d left out that morning and sighed. Beans on toast, then.

When his plate was empty, he slumped into the sofa and turned the television on. His sofa was one thing he liked about this draughty cottage. He had found it in the antiques shop opposite the green grocer’s and had carted it back all by himself. It was soft and cozy and had a dent in the middle that was perfect for slumping in. Putting his socked feet up on the coffee table, he flicked through the channels. Before he gave up on finding anything good, he paused as raucous cheering came through the speakers. There was a football game on. Evidently, someone had just scored. The players were jumping on each other, red-faced and sweaty. Merlin thought of the smashed plate and changed the channel. There. Some documentary about trains. Perfect.

-

He hadn’t always been like this, he knew. His childhood was mostly a blur, but Merlin remembered being a teenager and being relatively happy. He’d had friends, had been moderately popular at school. People called him easy going. It was when he reached sixteen that things took a turn. Merlin couldn’t describe it really, even when asked. At first it had been a nagging feeling, like he had forgotten something. He started to have vivid dreams that left him exhausted, like he hadn’t slept at all. He thought telling people his name, his true name, would make him feel better. Thaniel had started to feel so wrong for him that he would often not even answer to it. It annoyed people when he didn’t respond, but it was not on purpose. He just forgot. But then, when people started calling him Merlin, people who had known him as Thaniel, it grated on his ears. It was fine when it was new people who had never known him as anything but Merlin, but his friends never said it right, somehow. His name didn’t sound like anything in their mouths.

His mother had begged him to go to a therapist, and Merlin had gone just to put her mind at rest.

‘Depression,’ Mr Wilcox had said and had prescribed him a pill bottle. Merlin had prescribed himself a new place to live where no one knew him and a job where no one could tell him what to do because he was the boss.

‘Oppositional disorder,’ Mrs Lennox, his A-Level English teacher had called it. ‘He can’t stand being told what to do and frankly I’m at my wit’s end.’

Merlin had laughed at that one, his school tie askew.

‘That’s ironic,’ he’d said, then wondered why he had said it. That was over ten years ago now. He had a new place to live where no one knew him, and a job where no one told him what to do. Things had gotten better, mostly. Sometimes. Sort of.

His eyes were warm and heavy, drifting shut. Before he could fall asleep in front of the television again, he picked himself up and padded up the stairs to ready himself for bed. As he was brushing his teeth, he thought of the little spare room in Mr Black’s cottage. He had stayed once to look after Tammy when Mr Black had gone to the Lake District for a wedding. The curtains had been thin, light from the street coming in brightly and casting orange geometric shapes across the lumpy wallpaper. He supposed the football player would be in that room now, struggling with his crutches. Merlin glanced at himself in the mirror. He looked tired. A pinkish blush bloomed beneath his eyes. He scrubbed a hand over it, brow creasing. Perhaps he really was coming down with something.

Once in bed, he stared at the ceiling, watching the light change.

-

A small online post card company had approached Merlin a few weeks ago. They wanted him to allow them to stock their postcards in the book shop and Merlin, sick and hazy with a cold at the time, had agreed and then immediately forgotten.

‘I’m Portia Nicholls, we spoke over email.’

Merlin blinked at her from his place in front of the shop window. He had been stapling paper leaves to the shelves in a lacklustre effort to make an Autumn display.

‘Uh,’ he said.

‘From Portia Postcards.’

‘Oh…right.’

She raised a cardboard box above her head.

‘Where do you want them?’

‘Uh just…here.’

He stood and took the box from her, heading for the counter. Thunking it down, he looked at her expectantly.

‘That it then?’ he asked. She raised an eyebrow at him.

‘Sure…okay then.’ She started for the door, but stopped when the bell jingled, the door half-open and letting in the chill.

‘Merlin, right?’

‘Yeah.’

‘That’s a nice name.’

He nodded at her.

‘Thanks,’ he said.

‘Are you free for a coffee?’

‘Oh.’ He frowned, couldn’t think what to say. Why did this always happen? He didn’t think there was anything particularly alluring about him. Frankly, it was getting annoying. Couldn’t people just stick to themselves? ‘I’m…not really. I’m busy, you know.’ He waved a hand, trying to encompass the shop, but it was empty. She had been the first to step in that morning. Not even Mr Black had arrived yet, which was odd. The man was running late.

‘Okay,’ Portia Nicholls said, unfazed, and gave him a perfunctory nod before leaving. Merlin glanced at the box. The scissors were under the cash register, and he fiddled with them until he was pointing one blade downwards and could break apart the sellotape. Inside, there were five stacks of separate designs. Merlin dug his hand into the box and pulled out one stack. The design on this one was a painting of a misty river, an island at the centre. Merlin felt his heart thumping in his chest and he dropped the stack. Postcards spilled out across the floor.

‘You alright there, lad?’

His head snapped upwards. Mr Black was coming through the door.

‘Here, I’ll help you with that.’ Before Merlin could stop him, Mr Black had knelt down and started to gather the postcards together. ‘Sorry I’m late Merlin,’ he said as he got back on his feet and pushed the stack onto the counter beside the box.

‘Oh, that’s okay.’ Merlin was still focusing on getting his breath back. He moved down the little hallway to the back room, putting the kettle on. For a moment, he watched the water begin to bubble through the thin window of the kettle, before turning back. He was probably just losing his marbles. Better to just ignore it. ‘Is everything alright?’ he asked when he reentered the shop. Mr Black was inspecting the rest of the postcards. Merlin found that, when he had a quick look at the other designs, nothing happened.

‘Aye, well. Sort of,’ Mr Black replied. ‘My nephew wouldn’t get up this morning. Late riser I suppose. He’s very quiet. The journey didn’t do his leg any good, I could tell he was in pain, but he didn’t say owt about it. Anyway, I was a bit worried about him this morning like, you know, leaving him alone.’

‘You can go back if you want,’ Merlin said. ‘It’s not busy today.’

‘Oh no lad, that’s fine. I’ve left Tammy with him anyway and its only a few hours.’ With that, he took off his coat and disappeared into the back room. Merlin crossed the floor to the display he had left half finished and knelt down in front of one of the shelves. He tried to shake the feeling that had come over him, but it wouldn’t budge. As he reached for the stapler, it darted away from him, slipping underneath the radiator and hammering against the wall. Merlin quickly glanced behind him to see if Mr Black had noticed. He reached out for the stapler, but it swooped off under the Crime section.

‘Stop it,’ Merlin hissed and closed his eyes. ‘Breathe,’ he told himself. Finally, some semblance of calm settled over him and he crawled towards the shelf, sticking his arm under it and rummaging around until he gripped the stapler in his fingers.

-

At lunch, Mr Black left just as a hoard of nursery school children came in with their harried parents. Rosie Hellio was with them - she also worked part time as a babysitter and looked after two nightmare twins, Cassie and Callum who were both covered in freckles and liked to bite people. Merlin had once found them in the Children’s section cutting off each other’s hair with the scissors they had somehow managed to nick from behind the counter.

‘Bonjour Merlin,’ Rosie said. She looked windswept and pinched. Merlin nodded back at her and surreptitiously checked that the scissors were still beneath the cash register. Mr Black, it seemed, had had the sense to put them back after Merlin had left them on the counter. Phew. ‘Oh, what beautiful postcards,’ Rosie said, leaving the nightmare twins by the bookcase to have a look. Outside it had begun to rain. It came down in thick icy sheets, rivulets already forming between the drains. Passerby’s quickened their pace, hurriedly wrangling with their umbrellas. Leaves drifted along the cobbled street, clumps sticking to wellies. The kids inside the shop started screeching happily as they filed in front of the window to watch. Then Mr Black all but launched himself through the door.

‘Mr Black?’ Merlin said, noting the man’s red cheeks and soaked wiry hair.

‘He’s gone. I can’t find him.’

‘Monsieur Black?’ Rosie said, pressing a hand to his sodden shoulder. ‘Can’t find who?’

‘My nephew.’

‘Maybe he is out for a walk? It is no worry,’ she said, but Mr Black didn’t seem to hear.

‘It’s raining and Tammy’s at the house. What if he slips? The lad doesn’t know the place. There’s rabbit holes and barbed wire fences and-’

‘Everyone out!’ Merlin yelled. A few heads turned his way, blinking at him. ‘Out, out. Shops closed!’

‘Merlin?’ Mr Black wheezed.

‘Come on,’ Merlin said, taking the keys and grabbing his coat. ‘We’ll find him.’ He herded the rest of the customers out as the twins wailed and Rosie grabbed their little hands.

‘We’ll come too,’ she said and hurried after them, tugging the twins along with her. ‘All will be well, Monsieur Black!’

They left the market square and rounded the road that led to the farmland as the rain battered the fields and trees drooped over the wet soil. That part of the village was relatively flat, hills only rising up at the edges of the tilled land. The only signs of life were the farm houses and cattle. Crows swooped above the ground, searching for worms. Merlin couldn’t see anyone. They walked along the scuffed footpath, all along the marrow fields until they reached the other end of the village and were back to walking on concrete.

‘He couldn’t have gone further,’ Mr Black said, though he sounded doubtful. ‘He’s in crutches!’

‘Crutches?’ Rosie said. ‘Oh mon dieu.’

‘What’s crutches?’ Callum yelled. Merlin searched the empty streets, moving faster than the others. Everyone had gone inside to escape the rain. Just as he was beginning to wonder if Mr Black was mistaken and his nephew was at home after all, he rounded a corner and there he was. If Merlin had been going any faster, they would have crashed into each other. Gasping, he looked up and met his eyes. Blue, very blue, like the rain had gotten in. Mr Black’s nephew stared at him, mouth slightly open. Merlin couldn’t hear the rain anymore.

‘Hello,’ the man said.

‘Hello,’ Merlin replied. Just then, the others caught up, stopping beside him.

‘Arthur lad! There you are, you gave me a fright.’

Tired eyes moved to Mr Black.

‘Sorry,’ came the muttered reply. Mr Black stepped forwards, patting his nephew’s shoulder and steering him round to the main street.

‘No bother, my boy. Come on home, I’ll stick the kettle on.’

Together they headed down the road until the rain had all but washed them from view. Merlin watched them go.

‘Well, that was exciting,’ Rosie said. Her voice sounded like it was coming from the bottom of a well. ‘Wasn’t it little ones?’

‘Yeah!’ the children yelled. ‘Hot chocolate now!’

-

Back in the shop, Merlin settled in for an uneventful afternoon. Every now and again, his eyes would flicker to the street, but the rain kept everyone away until 3.30 when the school’s finished for the day. A miserable looking teenager with eyeliner and a comb stuck in his afro came in to rifle through the Horror section before leaving in a huff. The green grocer, Mr Khan, came in to find a gift for his daughter who had graduated UCL with a First in Mathematical and Physical Sciences. Apart from them, the shop remained empty. Merlin itched his twitchy fingers and drank his tea.  
He stopped at the Tescos on the way home and stocked up on stuff for dinner, not really paying attention to what he put in his trolley. The rain had cleared by the time he got home, turning the key. Inside, it was dark and empty. Of course.

He sat on the sofa with his bolognese and flicked through the channels before settling on a documentary about the ancient Egyptians. Halfway through, he realised he was completely lost. What had he been thinking about instead? Blue eyes. _Hello_.

He took a deep breath and put his bowl down before picking up his laptop. He didn’t use it a lot, only getting one when he realised it would be useful for the book shop. Idly, he flicked through his emails - one from his mother, six from websites trying to scam him. Before nerves could fill his stomach, he clicked the keyboard: ARTHUR BLACK INJURY. The first entry to come up was a video, which he clicked on, turning the sound up. The video started in what seemed to be the middle of a game. Merlin didn’t know enough about football to know what was going on. Mr Black’s nephew was running with the ball while another player grabbed his shirt. He managed to stay upright with gritted teeth amidst shouts from the crowd, like a sea of howlers. Then, quick as blinking, the other player skidded round and kicked his leg out. Both of them went sliding across the line, sprawling in the tarmac off the pitch.

‘Wasn’t even looking at the ball,’ one of the commentators sneered.

‘That…that looks…yep medics coming on,’ the other commentator said. ‘Hargreeves is on his feet. Black still down. Jesus that does not look good Frank.’

‘Not at all.’

Merlin snapped the lid shut. His chest hurt. He lay back, breathing out.

-

On Saturday morning the book shop opened an hour later than usual. Merlin usually lazed in bed and slowly made breakfast, watching day time television, but this morning a pigeon flew in through the fireplace just as Merlin was taking a sip from his cup. Spilling hot tea on his legs, he skidded backwards out of his chair and stared at the bird who was now perched on the mantelpiece, fluffing up its wings.

‘Oh God.’

Merlin glanced at the kitchen. Backing away slowly, he stepped over the wooden boards and reached for the newspaper that lay open on the table. He rolled it up and then crossed the carpet to open the living room window.

‘Okay, come on,’ he whispered shakily.

He took a swing at the pigeon, and almost screamed as the bird took flight and zoomed into the kitchen.

‘Oh God no.’ Merlin ran after it and pushed open the back door. ‘Out out out!’ He yelled. The pigeon seemed to understand his tone for it dived out through the door and settled in the cherry hedges. Merlin breathed out slowly, making a whistling noise. He squeezed his eyes shut and then went upstairs to change out of his pyjamas.

When he got to the shop, it was already open. Mr Black was setting up the cash register and humming under his breath.

‘Hullo Merlin.’

‘Hi, sorry I’m late.’

‘No bother. I rose early this morning anyway.’

Merlin nodded, trying to think of something to do.

‘Is um…’ he started when he reached the bookmark display and began to sift through them. ‘Is your nephew okay?’ It came out in a rush. His cheeks burned.

‘Oh thanks for asking Merlin, and thanks for your help. Arthur’s alright. He’d just gone for a walk, I suppose. Dint talk about it, and I’m not going to push him. I thought I might ask if he wanted to join the book club though. Give him something to do.’

The book club was hosted by Mr Black in Merlin’s shop on Thursday night’s every two weeks. Merlin had never attended. Mr Black, of course, had asked him along a few times until he got the message.

‘What book are you reading this time?’

‘ _The Hound of the Baskervilles_ ,’ Mr Black said with twinkly eyes, evidently excited. He wondered if Mr Black’s nephew would agree to join. ‘I think, you know,’ Mr Black went on. ‘I overreacted a bit yesterday. You know, coming in like that. Arthur is an adult after all. I probably annoyed him a bit.’

His tone told Merlin that this had been heavy on his mind.

‘I doubt it,’ Merlin said, though he had no idea. ‘You were worried about him. I’m sure he understood.’

Mr Black smiled. ‘Yeah,’ he said. Merlin wished he could be so easily appeased.

-

The clouds were thick and grey over the village as Merlin locked up. Ship-sized shadows covered the houses and a cold breeze nipped at his cheeks, burrowing into his hair. He glanced over the houses to the road that led to the farmland and saw a figure moving there, heading down into the village. He hurried his pace, watching the hobbling steps carefully. What was he doing, going for night walks in crutches all alone? Merlin got to the bottom of the road and started up the steady incline. His house was in the opposite direction and a nervousness settled in his stomach, pulling him backwards. He had not been spotted yet. Perhaps he should turn back. The clip clop sound of the crutches was getting closer. Too late. There he was.

‘Hello.’

‘Hello.’

Merlin swallowed. The breeze ruffled Arthur’s fringe. The thin coat he was wearing could not have been warm enough. His cheeks bloomed rosy pink.

‘What are you doing out here? Won’t your Uncle be worried?’

Arthur looked behind him at the stretch of farmland. The clouds were low. The sky had turned a dark blue. Merlin felt a storm coming.

‘I don’t know,’ Arthur said when he turned back.

‘Sorry,’ Merlin said, embarrassed. ‘It’s none of my business.’

Arthur shrugged, took a step closer.

‘This place is quiet,’ he said. Merlin glanced at Arthur’s hands, white knuckles clenched around the handles of the crutches.

‘Different from London,’ Merlin replied. Arthur nodded. As he began to walk down the road, Merlin joined him, glancing at him every so often. When they reached the end, Arthur paused.

‘I’m…’ He trailed off.

‘Arthur?’ Merlin said and suddenly felt breathless. That name felt so familiar in his mouth, like he had said it a hundred times before. He couldn’t remember a single other Arthur. It was an unusual name now, traditional. Dizzy suddenly, he looked away towards the horizon. It was getting darker and darker.

‘I’m not sure where I am,’ Arthur said.

‘Oh. Mr Black’s house is just over there, I’ll walk you.’

It did not take them longer than five minutes to reach the front door of Mr Black’s house. There was a light on in the hallway. For a moment, they both stood quietly on the step, neither of them making a move to knock. Arthur’s breath came out in little white clouds. His fringe flickered. Merlin had the urge to reach up and brush it back.

Then the door opened.

‘Merlin!’

‘Hello, Mr Black.’ He stepped down before Mr Black could protest.

‘Come in for a cuppa lad.’

‘Thank you but I’ve got to be getting back now.’ He turned, heading up the lane. Eyes were on him. He felt them on his back. When he reached his cottage it seemed overly silent. He took off his coat and hung it on the peg, stepped over the bills, and sank down into the sofa. After a moment, he swivelled round to lie down in the cushions, then shifted once more onto his side. He felt unsettled, like he couldn’t get comfortable. His skin was itchy. The feeling, like he had forgotten something, hung heavy in his mind. Not hungry, he resolved to have an early night. He would read in bed.

Upstairs, he lit the candle by his bedside. He had electricity, but the lamp had been broken in one of his “episodes.” He had been angry, on the phone to his mother as she told him it would be better for him to come home and start seeing Mr Wilcox again, maybe get his medication increased. He had been pacing back and forth, when suddenly the lamp exploded, shards flying every which way. He still had a small scar underneath his right eye.

After throwing the match onto the bedside table, he went to look at his bookshelves. Soon, he located _The Hound of the Baskervilles_. He plucked it out and went to the bed, wrapping an old quilt around his shoulders to stave off the chill.

 _Mr Sherlock Holmes_ , he read, and soon his eyes became heavy.

‘Arthur?’ His eyes flickered open. The sea was loud, waves rushing over the craggy rocks at his feet. The sun hit the cups on the table top, dazzling his eyes. ‘Arthur?’

‘He said each of us is only allowed to drink from a single goblet.’

The sky was blue above, hardly any clouds. He felt the sea against his skin, the smell of salt in his clothes. Arthur’s armour glistened like smashed glass.

‘Where are we?’

‘I’d no idea you were so keen to die for me.’

‘Trust me I can hardly believe it myself,’ he breathed out. The answering laugh echoed in his ears and he gasped, shooting up from his seat. Smoke rose up from the carpet.

Merlin blinked. He was in his bedroom. He had knocked the candle over. Leaning down, he picked it up. It was too dark to see if it had left a mark, though judging by the smell it certainly had.

A dream. Just a dream. Huffing, he lay back. _The Hound of the Baskervilles_ still lay in his hands, the pages slightly damp with his sweat.  
-

The shop was closed on Sundays. It used to be open for a few hours in the morning, but Hilda Greyfield and her choir friends at St Matthews had campaigned at the Town Hall to have it closed on the grounds that it was ungodly and, as Hilda contributed to the upkeep of the church, was a school governor, and was wife to a member of the local council, she won. Mr Black had sent a furious chain of letters through her door explaining why she was a curtain twitching busy body with a stick up her bum. Surprisingly, this hadn’t helped their case, but Merlin appreciated it nonetheless.

Despite the dream, Merlin had slept well and rose at a decent hour, trailing down the stairs with the blanket still round his shoulders, and made a bee-line for the kettle. As he waited for it to boil, he thought of the empty time he had to fill. The garden could do with a weeding. Among other things. It was looking a bit of a mess actually.

When he’d finished his cereal, he got dressed and put on some old muddy gloves. His gardening tools were all in the grass where he had left them, probably rusted over now. As he knelt down in the dirt, a pigeon landed on the hedge in front of him.

‘Are you the same one that flew down the chimney? Because if you are you can bugger off.’

‘If you’re expecting a response I think you’ll be disappointed.’

Merlin whipped his head round and then shot to his feet. Arthur was there, standing behind the fence. Tammy was with him.

‘Arthur.’

Arthur was giving him an odd look.

‘Merlin,’ he said.

For a moment, Merlin thought he could hear crashing waves.

‘Are you lost again?’ he said. To his delight, Arthur rolled his eyes.

‘Very funny. I just wanted to say…’ He shifted his gaze to somewhere over Merlin’s shoulder. ‘It was nice of you to walk me back yesterday.’

‘Oh. That’s okay.’ Though as he said it, he realised that Arthur had not actually said “thank you.”

Arthur nodded at him. Merlin wondered if he had been in the army. There was something about his stance.

‘So you’re…gardening,’ he said, pointing to the wilting flowerbeds.

‘Yeah. Well, sort of. I don’t really know what I’m doing.’

The colour beneath Arthur’s eyes was dark with more than just tiredness, Merlin thought. The crutches seemed to be the only thing holding him up. Tammy did not let her eyes stray from Arthur, looking up at him protectively.

‘I’d help you but…’ Arthur trailed off, eyes darting to the ground.

‘You mean you _do_ know what you’re doing?’ Merlin asked.

‘I know enough.’

‘Hold on,’ Merlin said and then crossed the grass and went through the back door. He returned with a chair which he plonked by the rose bush. ‘Here, you can sit and tell me what to do.’

Arthur was still for a moment and Merlin worried that he had been too forthright until Arthur moved, walking through the gate. Tammy followed him to the chair and watched him sit down before flopping down in the grass beside him.

‘Okay, well, you’ll want to cut off all the dead heads first, like that one there,’ he said, pointing to a wilted crocus. Merlin bent down, inspecting the flower before doing as Arthur said.

They carried on like this, neither speaking much outside of Arthur making suggestions and Merlin asking the odd question, until Merlin’s stomach grumbled.

‘Do you want to come inside? I’ve got ginger cake.’

‘Alright,’ Arthur said. Merlin turned, knowing instinctively not to offer Arthur any help in getting up. It didn’t take long for Arthur to follow him in and Merlin gestured for Arthur to sit at the table before turning the kettle on and pulling down two cups from their hooks.

‘Where did you learn gardening?’ he asked as he cut two slices of ginger cake.

‘When I was a child I lived in a nunnery for a bit. The nuns were very keen on developing life skills.’

Merlin thought of what Mr Black had said, that Arthur had been adopted. He wondered how the nunnery fit into that.

‘Is that where you got your name?’

‘What?’ Arthur said as Merlin carried the tea and cake over to the table.

‘Arthur. It’s a saint’s name isn’t it?’

‘Yeah. Arthur of Glastonbury.’

‘Is that why you chose it?’

‘How did you know I chose my name?’

Merlin glanced across the table. He had been blowing on his tea and hadn’t really thought too much before he had opened his mouth. Now he wasn’t sure what he had been thinking.

‘I…I don’t know.’

Arthur looked startled. Tammy seemed to pick up on it, resting her head on his knee. Merlin watched as Arthur scratched her behind the ears.

‘I chose my name too,’ Merlin said quietly. He shrugged. ‘Maybe that’s…how I knew.’

‘I can’t imagine you with another name,’ Arthur said.

 _You don’t know me_ , Merlin thought, but even in his own head it sounded ridiculous.

‘Good,’ he said instead. Arthur smiled. The odd tension somewhat dispelled, they went on with brunch in companionable silence.

‘I should get back to my uncle,’ Arthur said when the plates and cups were empty. ‘I didn’t tell him where I was going.’ For a moment, he looked confused.

‘I’ll walk you back.’ He thought that Arthur would protest, but he said nothing. Merlin grabbed his coat for he could see from the swaying trees that the wind had picked up. Together, they loped down the street towards the village. When they reached Mr Black’s front door, Merlin had to resist the strong urge to hug Arthur. Instead, he stepped backwards onto the garden path.

‘Well, thanks for the gardening tips.’

‘No problem,’ Arthur said. He looked like he had more to say, but his mouth remained shut. He opened the door and glanced back at Merlin, confusion knitting into his forehead. ‘Merlin,’ he said, more to himself than to Merlin.

‘I’ll see you later,’ Merlin said, hopeful. Arthur nodded and closed the door. On his way back up to the cottage, Merlin wondered, if Arthur had not told Mr Black where he was going, how had he known where Merlin lived?

-

Merlin did not like strangers.

‘Odd profession to choose then, isn’t it?’ his mother had said. ‘You should get an office job. More secure and you can hide away in some filing cabinet.’

He did not feel that he was always like this. At least, he felt that some part of him must not be so shy and annoyed by people he didn’t know because otherwise he would not have bought a shop. At school it had been easy to make friends. He was well liked, and remembers sleepovers and trips to the cinema. But around the age of sixteen, things started to change. Mr Wilcox was sure that something traumatic had happened to him, but it hadn’t. Merlin would lie awake as his mother moved around the house, and wonder why he felt so empty and alone. He had a mother. He had friends.

‘It’s called puberty,’ his mother said. Perhaps she was right.

Mr Black was currently reading to some of the nursery children, including the nightmare twins. Rosie Hellio waved to him as Merlin stepped onto the shop floor.

‘The end,’ Mr Black said. ‘Now what did you think of that?’ Mr Black had a very calming voice, especially when speaking to children. His grey moustache twitched as he smiled.

‘But where _were_ the wild things?’ said Callum ‘Because I want to go there and they didn’t say a country, Mr Black.’

‘Where do you think it is?’ said Mr Black.

‘I think Australia,’ Cassie said. ‘They’ve got wild, crazy, all sorts of crazy animals there. And sharp teeth.’

‘That’s very true.’

Rosie Hellio sidled up to Merlin.

‘Have you seen any more of Mr Black’s nephew, Merlin?’ she whispered. ‘I haven’t seen him since that day.’

‘Only a little,’ Merlin said, his heart thumping.

‘I hope he is alright. He seemed uh…perdu, lost. Poor man. So handsome though.’

‘Who’s that then?’ Mr Black said, rising from his plastic seat as the children were herded out by their parents. The twins remained on the floor, rolling around and roaring like wild things and gnashing their teeth.

‘You’re nephew,’ Rosie said. ‘I was just saying how handsome he is. Don’t you agree, Merlin?’

‘Uhhh.’

‘Ah, I see,’ Mr Black said, eyes twinkling. ‘Well, you’ll be at the book club won’t you Rosie? Arthur’s coming, you can chat to him there.’ He giggled. Merlin felt hot all over. He turned around.

‘Tea?’ he said, though it came out more like a shout.

‘Of course I will be there. And I have read the book this time! So I will know what everyone is saying. I will be off now with these wild beasts,’ Rosie said. ‘Come on little monsters. Au revoir.’

The kettle boiled and Merlin focused on pouring the water and getting the milk from the fridge.

‘Here,’ he said when he returned, passing a steaming cup over the counter to Mr Black.

‘Thanks, my lad.’ He took a sip, then said, ‘are you alright there Merlin? Not coming down with something are you?’

‘What?’

‘You’re all red.’

‘Oh. No. I mean I’m fine.’

Obviously perplexed, Mr Black shot him a smile and Merlin sat shakily in front of the cash register and got his sandwich out.

‘You ought to come round for dinner one day, Merlin. Close up the shop. A proper meal would do you good.’

It wasn’t the first time Mr Black had asked. Merlin knew Mr Black meant lunch when he said dinner, and so always gave the excuse that lunch time was a busy time for getting customers. Now, Merlin just nodded at him and went on eating.

‘Arthur’s a picky eater as well, you know. Doesn’t have much of an appetite. Though I imagine…I imagine he must have, what with needing to keep up his strength for footie but…’

Merlin knew Mr Black was thinking of Arthur’s injury.

‘Well, he’ll be right once he’s rested,’ Mr Black went on. ‘He always bounced back when he was a wee’un. He’d fall over and get right back up again, no tears. It worried my sister. He keeps it all bottled up, she’d say. My sister thinks it’s important to talk about feelings and the like.’

Merlin watched as Mr Black’s eyes became misty.

‘Mr Black?’ The old man’s fingers were shaking.

‘Oh I’m fine,’ he chuckled wetly. ‘Just worry for the boy, is all.’

Fear settled in Merlin’s stomach. He wanted to ask Mr Black if something else had happened, but couldn’t bring himself to push the words out.

‘Where…where is Arthur now?’ he managed.

‘Just at the house with Tammy. He won’t have gone out today I don’t think.’

That did nothing to quell Merlin’s nerves.

‘Well, I’ll be off now lad,’ Mr Black said and drained his cup. ‘Ta for the tea. See you tomorrow.’

‘Yeah,’ Merlin said. When he was alone, he fiddled with the wad of receipts he had been organising in the morning. He glanced at the postcards. Their backs were to him, but the memory of that image, the island in the middle of the lake, appeared in his mind. Folding his hands in his lap, he watched the door and hoped a customer would come in soon.

-

It was darker that night as he locked up the shop. Autumn pushed through the air, taking leaves with it. A fresh chill covered his skin as he shoved the keys in his pocket. This weather always reminded him of the start of a new school term.

Instinctively, he glanced up to the road that led to the farm land. After a sharp intake of breath, he hurried his pace until he reached the bottom of the road.

‘Arthur.’

Arthur flicked his gaze away from the horizon. His hair looked like burnished gold in the fast setting sun. Rosie Hellio was right, Arthur looked lost. Merlin climbed the rest of the way to him. The hedges on either side of him were buffeted by strong winds that came on quite suddenly as he drew near.

‘I…’ Arthur said. ‘I forget where I am sometimes. It’s always been that way, even in London.’

Merlin nodded and took another step.

‘Come on,’ he said. Arthur stepped forwards, the air catching in his jacket.

‘Where,’ Arthur said, raising his voice to be heard. The trees rushed over each other, loud and moaning as pebbles scurried through the soil.

‘To my house,’ Merlin called as leaves stuck to his legs. He turned round and then glanced over his shoulder to make sure that Arthur was following.

When they were inside, Merlin’s skin boiling from the sudden warmth, he put the kettle on and pulled a chair our for Arthur before going to the phone that sat on the wall next to the fridge.

‘I’m just calling your uncle.’

He expected Arthur to ask why, or to protest, but he didn’t say anything. When Mr Black answered, it was obvious that he was worried.

‘Mr Black, it’s Merlin. Arthur’s here. I mean, he’s at my house.’ He watched as Arthur set his crutches against the wall by Merlin’s muddy wellies.

‘Oh,’ Mr Black said. The line went quiet for a moment. ‘Oh, Merlin. I…that’s such a relief.’ His voice shook. ‘I…t-tell him he’s to stay there, don’t let him go out in the storm. And, that…I’m glad. Okay. I’m…thank you Merlin. Bye now.’ Merlin stared at the phone before putting it back on the hook.

‘Was he angry?’

‘No,’ Merlin said, perplexed that Arthur would even ask. Mr Black was not the type to get angry, not about anything, save perhaps the Hilda Greyfield incident. As far as Merlin could tell, the man had never raised his voice. But, Mr Black had said that Arthur and him had not spent much time together. Arthur, Merlin supposed, did not know his uncle very well. ‘He was just worried. He wants you to stay through the storm.’

Arthur nodded and cast his eyes to the table top. Merlin busied himself with fetching cups down and getting the milk from the fridge.

‘Here,’ he said, crossing to the table and setting tea and biscuits down. ‘What were you doing out there?’

‘Walking,’ Arthur said, sniffing as he dunked a ginger biscuit into his tea.

‘Yeah I got that, Arthur. What were you doing in the dark, alone?’

‘It wasn’t that dark and who else would I be with?’

‘Your uncle?’

Arthur just stared back at him, his eyes so blue in the shadow cast by his hair.

‘What if I hadn’t been walking that way?’ Merlin went on. ‘Or looked up? You could have been stuck out there in the storm.’

‘I would have just gone to yours.’

Merlin blinked at him, opening his mouth. He frowned instead and then took a sip of his tea.

‘I…’ Arthur started. His gaze moved around the room, like he was trying to find something. ‘I wake up and…I don’t want to get up. Everything hurts.’ His breaths quickened. ‘But I…as the hours go by I get. I can’t. I get furious with myself. I want to snap out of it. So I go out. If I just push myself, just a bit more everyday then maybe I…’

He swallowed, shook his head. Before he could stop himself, Merlin reached out and pressed his palm to the back of Arthur’s hand. Without looking up, Arthur tangled their fingers together.

They stayed that way for a long time, drinking and dunking biscuits into their tea one handed and all the while Merlin stole glances, and felt Arthur do the same.

‘Where did you get your name?’ Arthur asked quietly as Merlin took the plate and cups away and led Arthur into the living room. Arthur had only taken one crutch with him and sank into the sofa with a relieved sigh.

‘I don’t know. I just always felt like that was my name.’

‘It was the same for me,’ Arthur said. The wind howled through the window glass, the outside a sea of rippling trees and hedges, leaves sprinkling passed like snow. Merlin put the telly on and lay back. Some documentary was on about castle warfare.

‘What about your last name?’ Merlin said.

‘I don’t know what it was before I was adopted. I have no memory of my parents.’

Sleepy now, Merlin hummed.

‘My surname never felt right,’ he said.

‘What is it?’

Merlin moaned. ‘Hopkirk,’ he said. To his surprise, Arthur let out a loud chuckle.

‘Hopkirk,’ he laughed, shaking his head. His eyes seemed to focus on the telly then. The historian was giving a long waffling speech about hill forts. ‘These programmes are always getting things wrong,’ Arthur said.

‘Yeah,’ Merlin agreed. Soon, Merlin’s eyes grew heavy, and before long he heard light snoring near his shoulder. He smiled. Arthur was asleep, hair plastered to his red cheeks. Carefully, Merlin leaned over to the basket by the sofa and took out a blanket before gently placing it over Arthur. The programme finished and another came on, this one about the Plantagenets. Merlin barely heard a word, warm all over. He could not remember ever feeling so relaxed.

Suddenly, they both jumped at a loud knocking on the front door. Arthur blinked dazedly. One of the pillows had made a long indent in his cheek. Merlin fiddled with the lock and got the door open to find Mr Black on his doorstep. Outside, the wind had calmed. The sky was full of stars. Merlin could not ignore the swooping disappointment he felt at the sight of Mr Black. Behind him, he heard Arthur moving around.

‘Hullo Merlin,’ chirped Mr Black, obviously still worried. ’I thought I’d walk him back, since the storm’s done with. Came on quick dint it.’

‘Yeah,’ Merlin said, glancing over his shoulder. Arthur had retrieved his other crutch and was putting his coat on.

‘Hullo Arthur lad,’ said Mr Black. ‘You alright?’

Arthur nodded and passed Merlin on the doorstep.

‘Well, be seeing you Merlin,’ Mr Black said and waved before heading down the footpath. Arthur followed. Merlin’s heart thumped. He pressed a hand to his chest. Then Arthur looked back. Merlin felt his eyes grow hot, Arthur blurring in his vision. What the hell was the matter with him? Quickly, he stepped back into the hallway and closed the door. The crash of the lock reverberated inside him. Through the glazed window glass in the door, he watched Arthur’s blonde head move further away.

-

That night he hardly slept. He tossed and turned, huffing at the ceiling. Eventually, as the sun slipped over the horizon like liquid gold and the birds woke up, fluffing their wings in the trees, Merlin rose and dressed for the day. He sat with a piece of toast and read from _The Hound of the Baskervilles_.

It had felt so wrong to see Arthur go last night. To be suddenly alone in the living room with the television droning on.

Merlin sighed into his cup of tea. It wasn’t normal to feel this way about a stranger. His mother would want him to come home if she knew. He’d be in Mr Wilcox’s office before he could blink.

When he got to work, Mr Black was already there, standing on a stool to dust the top of the shelves.

‘Alright Merlin,’ he waved. ‘Thanks for looking out for Arthur yesterday.’

‘He’s a grown man, Mr Black,’ he snipped before he could stop himself. ‘Sorry,’ he sighed. ‘I didn’t sleep very well.’

‘No you’re right.’ He got down from the stool. ‘I forget sometimes. To me, you're both kids. Anyway, I’m glad you two are friends.’

The day passed slowly, only a handful of customers coming in. One woman, some representative of the famous romance novelist Candice Matthews, came in just before lunch time to ask if she could use the shop for a book signing event. The idea of all those people crowding into his shop was so off putting that Merlin couldn’t think straight until Mr Black stepped in and asked the woman to leave her card.

‘We’ll check the schedule and get back to you.’

Obviously surprised that they had not jumped for joy at the prospect of Candice Matthews coming to the shop, she slapped her card on the counter and left with her nose up. Mr Black giggled.

‘Be good for business though Merlin,’ he said tentatively. Merlin knew he was right. He was not exactly struggling, but customers were getting thinner on the ground these days.

At six o’clock he flipped the OPEN sign on the door and closed the blinds, then set out the chairs for the book club. He usually did so for Mr Black before leaving, but this time he stayed. He had finished _The Hound of the Baskervilles_ on his lunch break.

‘Merlin,’ Mr Black said, surprise evident in his voice as he stepped over the threshold with Tammy. ‘Are you staying?’

‘Yeah I…I read the book. So I thought I might as well.’ But as he looked over Mr Black’s shoulder he noticed that Arthur was not there. ‘Where’s Arthur?’ he said, pushing through his nerves.

‘Oh.’ Mr Black nodded at the floor. ‘Not coming. It was a bit much to expect him to really, all these strangers. Maybe next time.’

Before he could think, Merlin got his coat and marched towards the door.

‘I’ll be back,’ he said just as Rosie Hellio and her mother set the bell off.

‘Merlin!’ Rosie yelped as he almost walked straight into her. On the pavement, he called a quick apology and then turned on his heel, heading for Mr Black’s street. Once outside the door, Merlin stared at the lion shaped knocker, his breath misting in front of him. He bit his lip, then reached up and knocked three times. After a long moment, he heard the irregular sound of feet and crutches. The door swung open and Arthur, fuzzy haired, stared blearily at him.

‘Can I come in?’

Arthur stepped back. The wallpaper in Mr Black’s hallway was green with yellow birds. Arthur did not move further than that, nor turn the light on, so they stayed there in the shadow.

‘Why aren’t you coming to the book club?’

‘I didn’t think you’d be there. My uncle said you weren’t in it.’

Merlin had not expected that.

‘Is that really why?’

Arthur bowed his head.

‘I wasn’t going to…to sit with a bunch of strangers all staring at me unless it meant seeing you.’

‘Why would they stare?’ Merlin said, not able to even think about the last part of that sentence.

Arthur looked at him like he was an idiot.

‘It’s all over the internet. It was all over the news. Everyone’s seen it.’

Perhaps Merlin _was_ an idiot. It had been easy for him to find the video of Arthur getting injured, after all.

‘So what’s the plan then? You’re going to stay indoors forever and never see anybody?’

Light from the lamp outside cast squares of orange along Arthur's face. One blue eye. One orange eye. He looked so tired. There seemed to be no energy in him.

‘Sorry,’ Merlin said. His eyes stung. ‘It’s none of my business.’

Then Arthur took a step forwards and pressed a kiss to his lips.

‘Don’t say that,’ he whispered against Merlin’s lips. ‘You know it’s not true.’

Merlin nodded, breathing out, rustling Arthur’s hair with his breaths. He reached up, his hand smoothing the crease in Arthur’s t-shirt, then moving upwards to press against Arthur’s shoulder. Arthur kissed him again, slowly this time. Hesitant, Merlin’s fingers grazed the skin beneath the hem of Arthur’s t-shirt. Arthur gasped into his mouth.

‘Your hands are cold,’ he said

‘Sorry.’ He met Arthur’s lips again. One of Arthur’s arms came to settle lightly around his waist. He could smell soap on him, his clothes warm, like they had just come out of the drier. They parted and Merlin pressed a kiss against his cheek, then his neck, eyelashes brushing against Arthur’s jaw until he leant his cheek against Arthur’s shoulder and breathed in. Arthur rubbed their cheeks together, his hand moving from Merlin’s waist to settle in his hair. Merlin felt like he had been laying on a beach and was sun-tired. He felt like he had been crying for hours and had finally stopped, ready to sleep a dreamless sleep.

‘I knew where you lived,’ Arthur said. ‘I don’t know how. I just set off walking and knew I’d find you.’

Merlin had known that too. It was obvious. Of course Arthur knew where Merlin lived, because Merlin felt like he had known Arthur since before there were roads, before people lived here, before people even spoke in English. He wrapped his arms around Arthur’s shoulders. ‘When you said my name I knew no one had ever said it right before.’

‘I know,’ Arthur nodded. ‘I know.’ He ducked his head again, kissing Merlin and pressing closer till their chests bumped. Merlin heard himself making noises. His cheeks burned and he squeezed his eyes shut as Arthur’s free hand ducked underneath his shirt trailing up his spine. His t-shirt and jacket suddenly seemed too much. He wanted them off, wanted Arthur’s skin against his.

’T-tell me your room isn’t up the stairs,’ he said, hot against Arthur’s mouth as Arthur chuckled. Merlin had stayed in the guest room before but the layout of Mr Black’s house seemed to have escaped his head, replaced with cotton wool.

‘It’s just down there,’ Arthur said though Merlin did not bother to turn his head away to see where Arthur was pointing. Arthur left one of his crutches against the radiator behind Merlin and then took Merlin’s hand, leading him down the hallway. Arthur’s hair, Merlin noticed, looked like it had been out in a storm. His cheeks were just as red as Merlin’s felt.

The room, when they reached it, was bathed in the glow from the streetlights outside and Arthur did not bother to switch the light on, instead grabbing Merlin’s jacket and rucking it downwards before dropping it by his feet.

‘Merlin,’ he breathed and Merlin steered him towards the bed, guiding him downwards until they both sat on the mattress.

‘Are you okay?’ Merlin whispered. Arthur looked dazed, blinking slowly.

‘Yeah. Are you?’

‘Yeah.’ They stared at each other. A car went by, lights streaming over them. For a moment, a gold strip of neon stretched across Arthur’s forehead like a crown. Merlin swallowed. He raised his hand, covering the place where the light had been. Arthur turned his face, kissing Merlin’s wrist and Merlin weaved his fingers into Arthur’s hair. Reaching down, he pulled at Arthur’s t-shirt, tugging it off and throwing it behind him. His breathing was loud in his ears. He had the sudden urge to reach out and close the bed-curtains, but there weren’t any. Or bolt the door. But there was no bolt.

‘Merlin it’s okay. It’s okay.’ Arthur was brushing his fingers over Merlin’s cheeks. He realised that his skin was wet. Tears pooled in his eyes and slipped down, hot and salty. Arthur wrapped him in his arms, hiding Merlin in the shadow of his body.

‘I’m sorry,’ Merlin said.

‘Don’t apologise, dollop-head.’

‘That’s my word.’

For a long moment, they breathed against each other, then slowly they leaned back, just enough to see each other’s eyes. Fear bloomed in Merlin’s stomach. He felt like he was climbing a large hill, that the crest of the hill was in sight. There was something he had forgotten, something waiting for him up there. But he was scared to remember.

‘Arthur,’ he said, shaken. He found the same fear in Arthur’s eyes.

Then Arthur’s face lightened. His warm fingers skittered over the small of Merlin’s back.

‘When you say my name,’ he said. ‘I feel like I’m exactly where I’m meant to be.’

Merlin sniffed, smiling, and kissed Arthur soundly on the mouth. Arthur chuckled.

‘If my uncle finds us like this, he’ll have a heart attack.’

‘He’s probably waxing poetic about Sherlock Holmes right now.’

‘I didn’t even read the book. I was only going so I could see you.’

‘Me too. I never go.’

‘Why not?’

‘People.’

Arthur laughed. ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Let’s rifle through my uncle’s cupboards. You must be hungry. Did you come straight from work?’

Merlin nodded, helping Arthur with his t-shirt. Arthur grinned at him when his head poked through, his hair sticking up with static, and Merlin made fruitless efforts to get it to stay down again.  
In the kitchen, Arthur took down a pan and found some onions and garlic. Soon, the room filled with the warm smell of sauce and spaghetti.

‘This is delicious,’ Merlin said.

Arthur shrugged.

‘Another thing the nuns taught me.’

When the front door opened, Merlin and Arthur were washing and drying the dishes at the sink.

‘Oh hullo, Merlin,’ Mr Black said. He was pink from the cold and still had his coat on. ‘I’ve just prevented a punch up. Phew, you wouldn’t think a village book club could be so exciting, would you?’

‘A punch up?’ Arthur said as Tammy nosed at his slippers.

‘Madame Hellio and Mr Khan. She said Watson was as good as useless, Mr Khan begged to differ. I swear it almost came to blows.’

Arthur glanced at Merlin. Merlin snorted.

‘You didn’t pick sides?’ he said.

‘Well obviously Madame Hellio’s off her rocker with that one but each to their own. Merlin, you better watch your step on your way back, the road’s iced over.’

‘Really?’

‘I’ll walk you back,’ Arthur said.

Mr Black frowned. ‘Arthur, I don’t know about your crutches on the ice.’

‘It’s okay,’ Merlin said. ‘I’ll-’

‘I’ll walk with you both,’ Mr Black said, stuffing his keys back in his coat pocket.

Mr Black had been right. It was like a blizzard had rushed through the village, leaving ice and sleet in its wake. When they got to Merlin’s house, all three of them were grasping each other’s arms in an effort not to fall. Hilda Greyfield had come out onto her doorstep in her dressing gown to give them all a raised eyebrow as Mr Black seemed to find almost tripping and beaning himself in the head hysterically funny.

‘Alright, Merlin, see you tomorrow,’ Mr Black waved and turned, waddling back down the garden path. Arthur stood still, not quite near enough to touch. Merlin felt suddenly, desperately, that he did not want Arthur to go.

‘Arthur, lad,’ Mr Black called. ‘I don’t want to rush you my boy but it’s sort of slippy here.’

Arthur smiled at Merlin, though it did not quite meet his eyes. Once they were both out of view, Merlin went inside, closing the door on the chill. He went into the living room and perched on the sofa, feeling cold all over. Sighing, he flopped back into the cushions. He thought of Arthur’s eyelashes, his warm hands on Merlin’s back. It seemed a miracle, to feel those arms around his waist, to hear the soft sound of Arthur’s breathing so close. But it was like he could feel the distance between them getting wider and wider as Arthur moved further away from the house. Embarrassed, for it really was embarrassing to be feeling that way after only a few minutes, he turned the telly on and put his feet up, his eyes growing heavy as the sound of some historian droned into the room.

Merlin gasped awake. Outside, it was still dark, the curtains open. A hammering at the front door drew his eyes away from the window. He shot up, hurrying to the door and throwing it open.

‘Hi,’ he breathed out, and squeaked when Arthur wrapped him in his arms, his crutches falling to the floor, and kissed him.

When Merlin next woke up, he was in his bed, the sun dancing between the leaves of the trees, and Arthur was snoring softly beside him. Merlin turned onto his side and burrowed into the warmth of Arthur’s chest.

-

Arthur stroked cold fingers through his hair, the sunlight blooming in his eyes. Blinking slowly in the warmth of their bodies, Merlin shuffled forwards and kissed Arthur on the corner of his mouth.

‘I’m going to make you breakfast,’ he said, watching Arthur’s soft smile. A line appeared between his eyebrows. ‘What? I’m not that bad a cook.’

‘No, it’s…it’s just I left my crutches downstairs.’

Merlin glanced through the open door to the landing.

Once they were dressed, they stood at the top of the stairs. Merlin glanced at Arthur before taking one step down. He held his arm out for him.

‘I know I look like I’m made of twigs but I’m actually quite strong.’

Arthur looked uncertain, but pressed a hand to Merlin’s shoulder and then used the other one to grip the banister.

‘Okay?’ Merlin said and Arthur nodded. As soon as Arthur took a step, Merlin reached up to hold his forearm. He could not remember how they had managed this on the way up, especially as Arthur, it seemed, weighed an absolute tonne. Merlin had thought that football players were supposed to be lithe, quick. Arthur certainly looked like he was. ‘Jesus Christ,’ he wheezed as Arthur took another step.

‘Merlin?’ Arthur said, obviously concerned.

‘No it’s fine. You can trust me. Actually can we have a break?’

They had made it halfway down the stairs. Merlin breathed out.

‘What was that about you being strong?’ Arthur asked.

‘Yeah I don’t know what I was talking about.’

Arthur laughed. Merlin smiled up at him and giggled until they were both leaning against each other, wheezing with laughter.

‘Okay, ready?’ Merlin said when they had calmed down. Slowly, they stepped further and further downwards until they had reached the bottom.

‘We did it,’ Merlin said. Arthur opened his mouth, closed it again. Suddenly, his arms wound around Merlin’s waist. Merlin closed his eyes as he settled his cheek against Arthur’s shoulder. He kissed him slowly at the bottom of the stairs, fingers tracing the creases of Arthur’s cotton t-shirt, before letting him go. ‘Hungry?’ he asked, making sure that Arthur was steady before going over to the doormat to retrieve the crutches.

Once in the kitchen, Merlin put the kettle on and then opened the fridge. He had not realised that he was blushing until the icy air cooled his skin. He took in the contents of the fridge, resolving to cook Arthur a proper breakfast.

When the air in the kitchen was filled with the smell of cooking, all remnants of the night sky had been washed away by the sun. A cool breeze rustled the leaves in the trees and dew clung to the cherries. Birds wings ruffled in the branches and Arthur got out of his seat, digging his hand in Merlin’s musli jar and opening the back door to throw the seeds into the garden where they settled in the grass. Merlin snorted, watching through the open door as a large wood pigeon came down, followed by a starling and two sparrows.

‘They all eat together,’ Arthur said.

Merlin dished up and they both sat at the table and dug in. Arthur wolfed his down, despite the runny eggs, and looked so happily satisfied that Merlin had to look away. He felt ready for another nap actually and wished desperately that it was Sunday instead of Friday. He was already late for work, but couldn’t find it in him to care. Mr Black would have opened it up anyway, and he never seemed to mind when Merlin was late.

‘I better go,’ Merlin said. Arthur nodded. They both gave each other pitiful expressions. ‘This is daft. We’ll see each other later, won’t we?’

‘Yeah. When’s your lunch break?’

’12.00.’

‘Then I’ll come by then. We could go for a walk.’

‘Yeah,’ Merlin smiled. ‘Do you want to stay here until then?’

‘I think I’m going to go up to Fisher Hills to see Tammy.’

‘Okay,’ he said, happy.

The road to Fisher Hills started at the edge of the market square. They paused at the bottom of the road, their breaths visible in front of them. Merlin reached out, pulling the hood of Arthur’s coat out from the back so that it could stop the cold air from freezing Arthur’s neck. Arthur leaned over, kissing him and blocking out the chill.

-

Merlin tripped over a box of staplers and spilt tea on the carpet.

‘Sorry Merlin,’ Mr Black called from where he was knelt in the shop window and finishing off the autumn display. Soon they would have to swap the leaves for pumpkins.

Mr Black had not noticed that his nephew was not in the house that morning, assuming that he was still tucked up in bed.

‘I suppose he’ll enjoy having a lie in,’ he had said. ‘My sister told me he used to rise at five in the morning every day for early practice.’

Merlin had thought of Arthur in his football shorts and had promptly left the shop floor to put the kettle on.

Now, he set the tea down on the counter and went to go find the mop and bucket. As he soaked up spilled tea, he noticed that someone had mixed up the books in the History section. Somehow, Richard III had ended up with the Anglo-Saxons.

Shortly before lunchtime, Rosie and the nightmare twins came bustling through the door. The twins were covered in what looked like coal dust and Rosie looked more ruffled than usual.

‘Released early for getting into the coal shed and throwing coal at each other like snowballs,’ she said, her hands on her hips as the twins giggled.

Mr Black gasped. ‘You terrible twosome,’ he said, shaking his fist in the air dramatically and the children screamed with laughter. ‘What shall we do with them, Rosie?’

‘Throw them in jail and swallow the key.’

‘A fine idea!’ yelled Mr Black. Just then, the bell on the door chimed and Arthur stepped in.

‘Hullo Arthur lad,’ Mr Black said, obviously surprised to see his nephew. ‘Rosie, this is my nephew.’

‘Hello,’ Rosie tried to say, but was drowned out by a loud wheezing coming from Cassie and Callum. The children both had their hands on their faces and were staring up at Arthur like he was made of chocolate. Arthur blinked down at them.

‘Your Majesty,’ Cassie said, awe filling her voice and she curtsied. Callum tottered into a low bow and then shot up and grabbed Arthur’s arm.

‘Your Majesty, Your Majesty!’ he squealed, tugging him over to the children’s section. Arthur, who had only brought one crutch with him, let himself be poked and prodded until he was sat in a tiny plastic chair. ‘Let me read you a book, Your Majesty. It’s about crazy animals and a rumpus. You can put your thumb up or put it down like this at the end to say if you like it or you don’t.’

‘Okay,’ Arthur said, obviously dazed by the sheer energy of the twins. Cassie bounced on her heels behind him, only stopping to do pirouettes. It became clear almost immediately that Callum could not read and was making the story up based on bits and pieces that he remembered.

‘And then the boy Max saw a dragon and Merlin wizarded it and it flew away but the wild things were sad because they wanted a dragon as a friend.’

Arthur glanced up at Merlin, chuckling.

‘Your Majesty,’ Cassie asked, tapping Arthur’s shoulder with coal-covered fingers. ‘Where’s Guinevere?’

‘What?’ Arthur said, frowning.

‘Okay,’ Merlin said, jumping up from behind the counter. ‘I’m going out for lunch. Mr Black, I can close the shop if you want?’

‘Oh no lad, I’ll keep an eye on it, you go. Arthur, why don’t you go with Merlin?’

Arthur, who had already risen to follow Merlin out, opened his mouth.

‘Great,’ Merlin said loudly and was met with a few startled stares.

They walked out into the wind and headed for the road that led up to the farmland. Pathways had been cut into the earth round there as the beauty of the land made for nice walks. If you went far enough, you reached a copse of oak trees that lined a stream so rich in iron it could stain your feet red should you choose to go for a paddle. Children often did, splashing in the water and leaning over the large rocks to search for fish.

Merlin felt shaken, his bones buzzing beneath his skin. Arthur, quiet beside him, seemed to feel the same. The trees rustled, arching from both sides as if Merlin and Arthur were walking through a tunnel, leaves scurrying past their cheeks. Arthur reached out, taking Merlin’s hand. Merlin squeezed it tight, moving closer so that their shoulders bumped.

‘They called me your majesty,’ Arthur said, voice almost lost on the wind.

‘Yeah,’ Merlin chuckled. A pain was blooming in his skull. He realised he was clenching his jaw.

‘Merlin,’ Arthur said, stroking his thumb over the back of Merlin’s hand. ‘Merlin.’

Arthur halted his steps, forcing Merlin to stop too. Arthur turned so that the wind was behind him, shielding Merlin from it. Merlin tugged on his arm. ‘Let’s keep walking,’ he said, suddenly desperate to put an end to whatever it was they were broaching.

‘Merlin,’ Arthur said.

‘Please, Arthur.’

After a moment, Merlin felt the pain in his head wane a little. The wind calmed, dropping lower till it only caught in the ankles of his trousers. Then, it slipped away, rushing through the grass and going for the trees in the distance.

‘The weather here is so strange,’ Arthur said. They walked along the path, reaching the woodland. It was like a cathedral, motes of pale light shooting down through the canopy. Once inside the shadow of the forest, they found a fallen trunk to sit on and Merlin shared his sandwiches.

‘Do you like it here?’ Merlin said, needing to know that Arthur did.

Arthur looked at him. He had such a bright smile, it seemed to radiate into the air around him.

‘I do, yeah.’

When they had finished with Merlin’s lunch, they turned back, walking the way they had come. Merlin’s break would soon be over. They stopped on the path that was directly opposite the shop one way, and would lead in a straight line to Fisher Hills the other way.

‘I’m going to go back to the farm to see what I can do to help,’ Arthur said. When he caught Merlin’s uncertain look, he chuckled. ‘There aren’t any stairs,’ he said.

‘Okay,’ Merlin said, shaking his head at himself. But still, he did not want to go. He held tight to Arthur’s hand until Arthur stepped closer, rubbing his nose against Merlin’s cheek, causing him to laugh. He watched as Arthur left the path for the tilled earth that led to Fisher Hills, waving when he looked back.

When he reached the shop, Mr Black was no longer at the window display, though the stapler and scissors were still on the ground. Merlin found the old man leaning against the Crime section, his fingers fiddling with the spines of Agatha Christie.

‘Mr Black?’

‘Oh, hi h-hello Merlin,’ he stuttered.

‘Is everything okay?’

‘Y-yes, all fine.’

‘You don’t look fine.’

‘Uh.’ Merlin watched as Mr Black’s eyes flickered to the window. Following his gaze, Merlin could only see the wall that held up the pathway Merlin and Arthur had just been on. Heart thumping, Merlin realised that, if Mr Black had been knelt down by the display, he would have been able to see Merlin and Arthur on the path.

‘Um…’ he trailed off. ‘Mr Black I…it’s.’

‘Alright,’ Mr Black said, putting his hands up. He closed his eyes and seemed to be biting the inside of his mouth. ‘I don’t want to muck up my words so just give me a moment.’

‘Okay,’ Merlin said. When Mr Black still had not spoken, Merlin turned to the counter to dither with the receipts. Mr Kahn came in looking for postcards to send to his pen pal in India and Merlin stacked one of each from Portia Postcards.

‘He’ll like these,’ Mr Kahn said. ‘Thanks Merlin.’

The bell chimed as Mr Kahn left and then Mr Black appeared opposite the counter, almost making Merlin jump.

‘My nephew is very important to me,’ he barked.

‘I…I know.’

‘And so are you.’

‘Oh.’

Mr Black nodded, huffing out a nervous breath through his nose.

‘So…that’s that then,’ he said. ‘I’ll get back to the display.’

‘Oh…kay. But, Mr Black your shift is over.’

‘Oh right. Well…I’ll go and fetch Tammy.’

‘Arthur’s at the farm,’ Merlin said as Mr Black shoved his coat on.

‘Good. I haven’t seen him since last night and I miss him.’ As soon as the words slipped from his mouth, Mr Black’s eyes widened like two dinner plates and he hurried out.

-

When Merlin locked up the shop that evening, Arthur was waiting outside for him.

‘Hello,’ he said. He had an odd look on his face. Merlin sighed.

‘Your uncle talked to you didn’t he.’

‘Yeah,’ Arthur laughed and then raised a plastic bag which, from the look of it, was full of groceries. ‘He told me to cook for you because a proper meal could do you good and you look like a strong wind could knock you over.’

Looking at Arthur now, Merlin did not know why he had been nervous about what Mr Black would say, or how Arthur would take it. They fell into step and crossed the market square for the winding path that led to Merlin’s cottage. When Merlin got in, he pulled on a cardigan he had left on the kitchen table and then fiddled with the radiator, shivering. Arthur didn’t seem to feel the cold - underneath his coat, he only wore a t-shirt.

‘Okay,’ he said. ‘Tell me where everything is and I’ll start cooking.’

‘Are you sure? You don’t have to.’

‘Of course. You made breakfast this morning.’

Merlin grinned. ‘Okay,’ he said and started pointing out where everything was kept. Arthur took down the pan and switched one of the hobs on before taking out a chopping board.

‘It was Sister Cecilia who taught me how to cook,’ Arthur said, chopping onions. ‘The other nuns tried, but they were so impatient. My brain would turn off as soon as they started shouting, you know? But Sister Cecilia was old and slow and took her time with everything.’

He poured the onions in the pan and started on the garlic.

‘She was Italian, so my best dishes are pasta related.’

‘It smells amazing,’ Merlin said. ‘Were you her favourite?’

‘Absolutely.’

‘We didn’t have anything like that at my school. Some of the kids did an after school cooking club, but I’ve always been hopeless at it.’

‘I find that hard to believe.’

‘Believe me. It’s not that I’m bad at it, necessarily. It’s just I’m so clumsy. Most of the ingredients usually end up on the floor and things get burned. My mother never let me in the kitchen after I set fire to the ceiling.’

‘How did you manage that?’ Arthur laughed as he stirred the simmering vegetables.

‘I was busy mopping up the olive oil I’d spilt all over the floor and forgot I’d put bacon on. When I looked up, a wall of fire was licking the ceiling. Arthur, it was terrifying.’

Laughing loudly, Arthur shook his head.

‘Well you managed it this morning at least,’ he said.

‘That was a fluke.’

When Arthur had dished up, they sat at the table and Merlin wondered if he had ever had good food before this. What kind of rubbish had he been eating? Food didn’t seem to matter before this. He would just go to the Tesco’s and buy whatever frozen meal he could find. He can’t have ever been full.

‘Mr Fisher has a carpentry workshop in his shed,’ Arthur was saying. ‘He makes really beautiful things.’

‘Yeah?’ Merlin said, half focused on trying to make the most of his meal.

‘He said that he…’

Merlin’s eyes flickered upwards.

‘That he’d make me a cane, if I wanted.’ Arthur seemed nervous suddenly. ‘What do you think?’ he asked, his blue eyes unguarded.

‘I think it’s great.’

‘Really? You don’t think I’ll look…’ Arthur waved a hand in the air. Merlin raised an eyebrow. ‘You think it’s good, then?’

‘Yeah. I know the arm holders in your crutches were digging in. You have deep red lines there.’

‘How did you know that?’

‘From last night when you took your t-shirt off and…’ he trailed off, his face suddenly on fire. Arthur bit his lip and then stood up to take the plates away. When they were on the counter, Merlin got to his feet. For a moment, they stared at each other, then Merlin came forwards and wrapped his arms around Arthur’s shoulders, gasping when Arthur kissed his neck and then found his lips. Merlin pushed his hand down the neck of Arthur’s shirt, the ends of Arthur’s hair tickling his wrist as he stroked his fingers over warm shoulder blades.

‘How,’ he gasped. ‘How did we get up the stairs yesterday?’

Arthur’s eyelashes brushed his cheek, his mouth hot against his.

‘Up is easier than down,’ he chuckled, steering Merlin out of the kitchen and rounding the stairs ‘I don’t know why.’

They kissed their way up the stairs and crossed the threshold of Merlin’s bedroom, losing clothing on the way. Again, Merlin felt the urge to bolt the door or check for people in the hallway.  
‘The guards,’ he said against Arthur’s cheek as Arthur laid him down on the bed.

‘Huh?’ Arthur said, voice dazed. Merlin shook his head, sweeping his hands up Arthur’s back and pressing closer. Hiking his legs up, brushing his knees against Arthur’s sides, he moaned. The window was open. What if the people in the courtyard heard? The knights at the gates. He could see their red cloaks bellowing out behind them.

‘Merlin,’ Arthur whispered into his hair and Merlin opened his eyes. ‘Where did you go?’

‘Nowhere, I’m here,’ he said, clinging to Arthur. Arthur kissed him deeply, and all thought of the outside world disappeared.

-

They lay in the dark, burrowed under the duvet and quilt. Arthur plucked an eyelash from Merlin’s cheek, Merlin’s hand resting in the crook of Arthur’s neck.

‘How long have you lived here?’ Arthur said.

‘Three years,’ Merlin said, brushing his fingers over Arthur’s clavicle. ‘I moved here after I bought the book shop. It was a florists back then.’

‘What made you buy it?’

‘I didn’t really think it through. Just wanted to get out of Kent and my mum’s house.’ A warm hand brushed against his ribs. ‘It…I never felt right there. Like I was myself. When I was a kid I was sure I’d wake up and people wouldn’t be able to see me.’

The air was warm around them. Merlin’s eyes grew heavy.

‘I’d float away,’ he said, eyes closing. ‘And no one would notice.’

‘I would notice.’

‘I didn’t really belong there anyway.’ The words floated away too, shaking through the curtains, and Merlin felt himself slip deeper into the dark.

‘Merlin. Merlin!’

He gasped awake. A faint light had crept in through the gap in the curtains. Merlin blinked, glancing over Arthur’s shoulder at the clock on his bedside table. It was almost morning. He swallowed, trying to calm his breathing as Arthur hovered over him rubbing his hands up and down Merlin’s arms.

‘It’s okay. You’re okay.’

‘What did I do?’

‘Um.’ He watched as Arthur hesitated then glanced at the opposite wall where Merlin’s bookshelves stood. He followed Arthur’s gaze and found that the shelves were empty. Sitting up, he leaned over to find all of his books spread out across the carpet. Cold fear clawed its way through his skin, freezing his bones.

‘I…it…it must have been the wind.’

‘Merlin, the windows are closed.’

‘The…then it.’

Warm hands took hold of his shoulders.

‘Merlin, it’s okay, just breathe.’

Merlin shrugged him off, getting to his feet and pulling his jumper on, then his jeans.

‘Merlin!’ Arthur called as Merlin hurried down the stairs and walked into the kitchen. He froze in the middle of the room, breathing hard. When the wooden spoons in the jar on the counter started to shake, he ran into the living room. The clock on the mantelpiece shot from its perch, smacking into the wall and leaving a dent. On the footstool by the fireplace, the books he had left there began to vibrate until they leapt into the air and stuck themselves to the ceiling. Merlin tripped backwards, landing on the sofa. He wrapped his arms around his legs and hid his face. Through gritted teeth he heard a noise tearing from his throat as his knees became sodden with tears.

‘Merlin for God’s sake!’

He squeezed his eyes shut against the sound of Arthur’s voice. A loud moaning hammered through the gaps in the windows. It felt like the wind had gotten in and was whirling through the living room.

‘Merlin I can’t- I can’t get down, please. Just, just calm down it’s alright!’

He heard a shuffling noise and then a muffled curse as loud bangs descended the stairs.

‘Jesus Christ,’ came another yell. And then, closer, ‘Okay, okay Merlin.’ Hands gripped his arms, pulling. ‘Hey, open your eyes.’ He shook his head. ‘Come on, Merlin, you can open your eyes can’t you?’

Slowly, he did so, and then gasped, clutching Arthur’s arms and staring gobsmacked at the storm of ripped newspaper that was whirling around the room.

‘It’s okay, just look at me. Look at me.’

He couldn’t take his eyes off the storm raging through his living room, fear tearing through him. Hands pressed against the side of his face.

‘Merlin look at me.’

‘I…I…’

‘Now.’ 

He did, finding Arthur’s blue eyes.

‘Good. Now make it stop.’

‘I can’t,’ he yelled over the howling pounding at the window glass. ‘I don’t know how.’

Arthur gripped him tightly.

‘Yes you do,’ he said.

He stared into Arthur’s eyes, breaths coming slower. Hot tears spilled down his cheeks. Then he opened his mouth.

‘ _Belucan_ ,’ he said. All at once, the paper fell to the carpet, the books unstuck themselves from the ceiling, and the wind stopped. Merlin’s fingers fluttered against Arthur’s arms. They breathed against each other until their chests had stopped heaving. Then Merlin leaned forwards, helping Arthur onto the sofa. Arthur flopped back against the cushions and released a long breath as he blinked slowly at the ceiling.

-

‘Arthur,’ Merlin said. They had not yet moved from the sofa. Merlin felt like he had run a marathon. ’How did you get down the stairs?’

‘It was a combination of walking and falling.’

Merlin covered his face with his hands, moaning.

‘Why did you run away?’ Arthur said. Merlin let his hands drop.

‘I panicked. I thought you’d…I don’t know. How…how did you know it was me and not just some…some freak weather thing?’

‘I just did.’

‘Aren’t you angry with me?’

Arthur fell silent, confusion knitting into his brow.

‘I…’ He blinked. ‘No. Did you think I would be?’

‘I don’t understand this. Why aren’t you freaked out?’

‘I don’t know. I feel like you already told me.’ He reached up, brushing Merlin’s tears away. Merlin let out a wet, shaking breath. ‘I was dreaming,’ Arthur said, taking Merlin’s hand. ‘You were inside this…path between two rock faces and suddenly all these rocks fell. I yelled your name, but you were gone. I could hear you but I couldn’t see you anymore. And when I woke up you were calling my name and suddenly all the books just burst out of the shelves.’

They were quiet then, Arthur’s words settling around them.

‘Don’t go into work today,’ Arthur said finally. ‘My uncle won’t mind. Stay here with me, okay?’

‘Yeah,’ Merlin said. ‘Okay.’

The morning slipped by slowly, rain falling suddenly and then moving away from the village just as suddenly, leaving everything bright and sharp. They camped out in the living room, watching old black and white movies under a woolly blanket as clouds drifted past the window. Arthur did not let go of Merlin’s hand.

At some point, Merlin drifted off and then woke up to the sounds of Arthur cooking in the kitchen. He tugged the blanket around his shoulders and then padded in.

‘Hello,’ Arthur said, beaming at him as he shook herbs over a sizzling pan. ‘Chicken sandwiches.’

Merlin hummed sleepily and smushed his face into the crook of Arthur’s neck, Arthur’s arm coming to wrap around his waist as he prodded the chicken.

They ate in front of the telly. _Casablanca_ was on.

‘Have you tried to use it on purpose,’ Arthur said.

‘Use what?’

‘The magic.’

‘Arthur, don’t call it that.’

‘What else would I call it?’ Arthur said, setting his plate down on the floor. ‘The Force?’

Merlin let out a short laugh.

‘Maybe,’ he said.

‘Oh great Jedi Master,’ Arthur bowed. ‘Please use the Force again.’

‘Don’t be daft,’ Merlin snickered.

‘Make the remote move,’ he said, glancing at where the remote sat on the coffee table.

‘Arthur, I’m not a Jedi.’

‘ _Really_? That’s _so_ disappointing because I really thought that you were one.’

Rolling his eyes, Merlin put his plate down and sank into the sofa cushions.

‘Come on Merlin. Just try it.’

‘Doesn’t it scare you?’

Arthur shrugged. ‘Why should it?’

Merlin didn’t know what to say to that. Reluctantly, his eyes settled on the remote. Nothing happened.

‘I have no idea what I’m doing,’ he said.

Arthur settled next to him, pressing the side of his face against a cushion.

‘Well having your eyes an inch from mine really helps.’

Arthur laughed, reaching out to tickle Merlin’s ribs and suddenly the remote rolled off the table.

‘Wow,’ Arthur said. ‘Maybe it only works when I tickle you.’

‘I don’t think so,’ Merlin said, but it was too late. Arthur had already managed to ruck up his t-shirt and get both hands under there. ‘Well,’ Merlin said when he was gasping against the arm of the sofa, Arthur laughing hysterically against his thigh. ‘I’m glad this is the only house on my street or else my neighbours would think I’d been murdered.’

That evening, Arthur tried to talk about it again, the magic. The window glass was fogged up, the rain now frosted over the roads and fields.

‘That word you said-’

‘Not now, Arthur.’

Arthur looked uncertain, but did not bring it up again.

-

On Monday, the representative to Candice Matthews called and left a message, but Merlin was so busy catching up on the work he had missed that he forgot to call her back. A box came full of proof copies for him to look over, which he unpacked on the counter so that Mr Black could have a look through them. Mr Black was still busy fixing the Autumn display. Privately, Merlin thought he was going a bit overboard with it. Soon the display would outgrow the window.

‘It’s good to celebrate the seasons, Merlin. Does us good to mark the year, or it could just slip past you without you knowing it. That’s why I chose The Midwich Cuckoos for the next book club meeting - it’s spooooooky season. You will come won’t you?’

‘Yeah sure,’ he said.

At lunch, Mr Black went off to his Tai Chi class and Merlin went through his shelves and found a copy of _The Midwich Cuckoos_. As soon as he’d flipped to the first page, Rosie stepped into the shop with the twins.

‘Bonjour, Merlin.’

‘Bonjour Merliiin,’ the twins repeated.

‘They wanted to choose a book for their cousin. It’s his birthday tomorrow.’

‘We’re going to stay at his house and he has glitter pens,’ Callum said importantly.

‘That’s great,’ Merlin said, eyes roving over the shop floor for stray scissors or staplers or anything with mischief potential. Callum’s alarmed gasp drew his eyes back. The little boy was holding one of the wooden swords Merlin had got in after Mr Black had convinced him that they should sell toys in the children’s section. Merlin had also got a box full of stuffed toy snakes, pointy princess hats, and teddy bears that looked like a cross between Rupert and Sooty.

Callum pointed the sword at the ceiling, then snapped his eyes to his sister.

‘Make me a knight, Cassie!’

‘Okay! On your knees, Sir Callum.’

‘I’m not a Sir till you chop my shoulder.’

‘Wait!’ Cassie screamed. ‘The King can do it.’ She was pointing at the window to where Arthur was walking with Tammy and Mr Black. All three came into the shop.

‘Mr Adiola’s thrown his back out!’ Mr Black exclaimed. He was still in his gym clothes.

Distracted by Tammy, Cassie had broke free from her brother and buried her little fingers in Tammy’s fur, but Callum was not so easily swayed.

‘Your Majesty,’ he said, bouncing on his toes, ‘if you like could you make me a knight?’

Something seemed to wash over Arthur’s face. He looked down at Callum, then said, ‘Of course.’

‘And me!’ Cassie shrieked, Tammy forgotten.

‘I will, certainly,’ Arthur said. ‘But you are both much too young now. Do you promise to uphold all knightly virtues until you are grown?’ At their nodding heads, he continued. ‘Then I will make knights of you both when you come of age.’

Merlin bit into his lip so hard, he tasted blood. Rosie was laughing, as was Mr Black.

‘How wonderful,’ Rosie said. ‘And you know, I know of no knights that break into coal sheds and throw coals at each other, so that will have to stop.’

Momentarily, the twins looked disappointed until Callum brightened and exclaimed, ‘at least we can fight with swords. En garde!’ And he thrust his wooden sword at his sister, who jumped back and screamed in delight. She managed to twist round and grab one of the swords from the basket, imitating her brother’s stance and then waving the sword madly in front of her.

‘Take a swing with each step forwards,’ Arthur said. ‘Like this.’ He picked up a sword and thrust out with it as he took a step, then again, this time taking one back.

‘Woah,’ Callum said, wondrous, before he did as he was told.

‘I didn’t know you fenced, Arthur,’ Mr Black said. Arthur stopped short and looked down at the sword.

‘I don’t,’ he said and then glanced at Merlin. Merlin took a step away from the counter.

‘I…I’m just going to,’ he glanced at the door. ‘Get some air,’ he said before marching out. Crossing the road, he looked down towards the rest of the village, then up the other way. His breath came out ragged. Suddenly, Arthur was in front of him.

‘Merlin,’ he said, taking Merlin’s wrists in his.

‘I’m fine, just hot in there.’

Leaves had fallen in soggy clumps on the road.

‘Let’s go for a walk, alright?’ Arthur said.

‘The shop.’

‘My uncle won’t mind. He loves it there, you know.’

Merlin nodded, breathing out against the cool air. They walked to the usual path across the farmland, avoiding muddy puddles, and Merlin kept himself more alert than usual in case Arthur showed signs of slipping. When they reached the copse of oak trees, Merlin thought they would find somewhere to sit, but Arthur kept on. He found the stream, much higher now due to the rain and lapping the grassy banks. They followed the twisting water, further and further until the trees began to thin.

‘Arthur we shouldn’t go any further.’

‘Why not?’ Arthur called, not stopping.

Dread crawled inside his stomach.

‘I…I think we should stop here.’

‘There’s something I want to show you.’

‘I don’t want to see it.’

Arthur stopped, turning round to face him. In this light, his eyes looked preternaturally blue. Bracken swayed behind him.

‘You can’t do this forever, Merlin.’

Merlin swallowed, allowed his hand to be taken. He took a step forwards, and kept going until they reached the edge of the forest. There, glistening in front of them, was a lake. In the middle of the lake was an island.

‘Where’s the tower?’ Merlin said.

‘It must have turned to ruin. If we crossed the water, we could probably see its foundations.’

A cold breeze lapped at the surface of the lake. The grass on the island was overgrown, full of dandelions and thistles. Merlin imagined a boat, bobbing there on the rippling waters, moving further and further away.

‘Why did you bring me here,’ he said. His vision blurred. He reached up and wiped his tears.

‘I came here the other day, after you’d gone back to the bookshop,’ Arthur said, looking out at the island. ‘Before, when we walked to the forest on your lunch break, I felt like something was drawing me to this place. So when I left you, I came back and kept going until I found the lake. I knew I’d been here before. Somehow.’ He stepped forwards, looking at the island like he could see the tower there, looming like a sword as its shadow rippled over wildflowers. ‘We’ve been here together, lying on this bank, your tears on my face. Say you remember, Merlin?’ Arthur had turned to face him now, his eyes wet. 'I feel like I’ve been going mad. I see things, dream things. I feel like I’ve loved you since before I breathed for the first time. I can’t believe I lived whole decades without knowing a person like you could exist.’ He drew nearer. ‘I know you don’t want to remember, but I can’t do it alone.’

At once, Merlin was on the bank, and then he was in his childhood bedroom. He was sixteen, lying on his bed and feeling empty, because today was the day that he was supposed to meet…but the rest of that sentence would always dance away from him, disappearing into the darkness.

Arms wrapped around him.

‘I’m sorry,’ Arthur whispered. ‘I know it’s too much. I’m sorry.’

‘Arthur,’ Merlin said. He looked over Arthur’s shoulder at the island. ‘Sire.’

Arthur inched backwards, dawning realisation breezing across his features. His mouth tripped open in shock. Merlin squeezed him tight against his chest.

‘Bloody Hell,’ he groaned. ‘The nightmare twins were right.’

-

Quietly, they walked back to the shop. Merlin was lost in swirling thought, so much so that he did not realise that they were standing in front of the door. Rosie and the twins were still in there. It felt impossible that Merlin could go back to work after such a revelation, though, what the revelation was exactly, he was not entirely sure.

‘We’ll figure it out. It’ll come back,’ Arthur said into his hair before he opened the door. Tammy came trotting out and sat by Arthur’s feet as Merlin went inside.

‘You alright there, lad?’ Mr Black said, patting his shoulder. Merlin nodded, though his legs felt numb. Seemingly satisfied, Mr Black left to join his nephew. Merlin watched as they crossed the road.

‘Well, have you picked a book yet little devils?’ Rosie asked.

‘Can’t we get these?’ Cassie said, still holding the sword.

‘No. His mother may not like it. A book is a neutral gift.’

‘I don’t want to give him a neutron.’

Rosie grinned at Merlin and he tried to grin back. When it was time to close up, he tucked _The Midwich Cuckoos_ into his rucksack and wrapped an extra cardigan around himself beneath his coat. It would be cold for the children who were going trick or treating next week. He hoped the snow would hold off until then.

Once inside his cottage, he hurried to the radiator in the kitchen and turned it on before divesting himself of his coat and trainers. He sighed into the quiet, eyeing the oven.

 _Sire_.

He thought of Arthur, a crown atop his head. It did not sit well inside Merlin’s mind. Banishing the thought, he got up and began to rifle through his cupboards. Arthur, he supposed, would be having dinner with his uncle. Good. It wasn’t fair of Merlin to monopolise Arthur’s time, especially when Mr Black had looked forward to spending time with his nephew. He found a tin of beans and took the bread from the bread bin, popping two slices in the toaster. He had forgotten to buy butter. Butter made beans on toast considerably better.

The beans began to hiss on the hob and Merlin opened the cutlery draw, only to find that the forks were all gone. He had left them in the drainer over the sink. About to take a step forwards, Merlin paused, his eyes on a fork. Hesitant, he took a deep breath, and then held his hand out. The cutlery shook. Frightened, he dropped his hand. But why should he be frightened? Arthur wasn’t scared, after all. He raised his hand again, focusing. This time, amidst the shaking cutlery, the fork began to slide up from the drainer and hover towards him. When it was resting on his palm, he clasped it and laughed. He had done it. Lighter now, he stirred the beans and took a plate out. Gaius had never let him make supper - _when I don’t mind eating watery slop, I’ll let you know_ , the old man had said. Gasping, the plate slipped out of his fingers and smashed into large pieces at his feet. Merlin covered his mouth with a hand, staring down at the pieces. All at once, he could see Gaius’s workshop, the boiling pot above the fire, the herbs laid out on the table. Books and scrolls littered the floor, except for one book. Merlin glanced over his shoulder. That book was safely hidden under his bed. He rubbed hands over his eyes and blinked at the light in his kitchen. The beans were bubbling up, sending hot sauce up in the air. He quickly turned the hob off and then almost jumped out of his skin when the toast popped up. Instead of doing something about his dinner, he backed up until he was sat in a chair at the table.

Arthur was right, he could not do this alone. At once, he bolted up and pulled his wellies on, then his coat. He locked up, the key skimming over the lock in the dark, and tried to avoid the puddles as he made his way down into the village.

Mr Black opened the door.

‘Hullo Merlin,’ he said, seemingly delighted.

‘Hi,’ Merlin said, quickly passing him in the hallway. Arthur was reading at the kitchen table.

‘I don’t get this book,’ he said without looking up. When he did, he grinned. ‘Merlin,’ he said.

‘I remembered Gaius.’

‘What?’

‘Gaius, the court physician.’ He shook his head, feeling sick. ‘The court physician,’ he repeated.

‘Oh. Me too.’

‘What’s that?’ Mr Black said, appearing in the doorway.

‘Um, nothing,’ Arthur said. Mr Black looked between them.

‘You know, I think I’ll just go and put my feet up,’ he said and left them. Arthur got up, pulling a chair out for Merlin.

‘Come here,’ he said. Merlin slumped down, frozen for a moment before he pulled his coat off.

‘When did you remember?’

‘About ten minutes ago,’ Arthur said. Merlin glanced up at him helplessly.

‘How are you so calm?’

Arthur didn’t seem to have an answer for that. He fidgeted with the cover of _The Midwich Cuckoos_.

‘I…it feels like I’m getting answers. And, you’re getting them too. It doesn’t seem like a bad thing.’

‘You’re so….so…’ Merlin trailed off.

‘Handsome? Amazing?’

Merlin rolled his eyes, smiling despite the sea of emotion rising and falling inside him.

‘I would never have guessed you would be the one with sense.’

‘Oh thank you Merlin, I was only the King. I suppose you were the brains behind the operation?’

‘Don’t say that.’

‘No it’s probably the truth.’

‘No. Don’t say King.’

He could not explain it, just that the word filled him with dread. Because if Arthur was the King. If Arthur was the legend, then he wasn’t Merlin’s anymore, he was everyone’s, and all those walks and quiet touches and watching black and white films under woolly blankets would suddenly seem so small.

‘Merlin.’ Arthur reached out, his warm hand pressed against Merlin’s. The light in the kitchen set Arthur’s skin in an orange glow, his hair like wheat beneath a summer sun. ‘The past is the past. It can’t change you. Only the future can do that. I’m still Arthur. You're still Merlin.’

With Arthur’s steady gaze on him, his hand in his, Merlin knew that it was true.

After a while, Mr Black came in.

‘Sorry to interrupt lads but I bought a trifle and it has to be eaten today. Do you want some Merlin?’

Feeling more solid than he had in years, Merlin made space for Mr Black at the table and took the offered spoon before digging in.

-

After _The Midwich Cuckoos_ , they had read _Murder on the Orient Express_ , which Arthur hated - ‘They’re all horrible, every last one of them,’ he had said. The next book was up to Rosie to choose, but she had yet to decide, torn between choosing something new or choosing a book she loved but then opening it up to the opinions of the rest of the club which she may not agree with.

Arthur had been spending more time at Fisher Hills. He had sat in Mr Fisher’s carpentry workshop as the farmer made Arthur’s cane, and Arthur had become so interested in the process that Mr Fisher had offered to show him the ropes. It was not long before Arthur was quite proficient at it, as was Arthur’s way with everything, Merlin was beginning to realise, and Mr Fisher decided to make Arthur his apprentice.

‘Like you were to Gaius,’ Arthur had said and Merlin was surprised to find that Arthur seemed happy about that, rather than insulted.

Slowly, things were coming back. Usually, if Merlin remembered something, then Arthur remembered it too, give or take a few minutes. Occasionally however, one would remember much earlier before the other. It felt lonely, those times.

It was a Sunday when Arthur remembered Uther. Merlin did not let go of Arthur’s hand, Arthur’s face sodden as Merlin brushed the hair from his eyes.

‘I would not have let him near you,’ Arthur said.

‘I know.’ Merlin knew that it was more than just that though, that Arthur was grieving the loss of a parent. No matter what Merlin had thought of the man, Uther was Arthur's father, and Arthur had loved him.

‘If…if he had known about your-’

‘But he didn’t.’

Arthur sniffed.

‘How were you such a bad liar in one breath, and an expert the next?’

Merlin chuckled, then realised what Arthur was asking. It was deeply frustrating to not remembering everything, especially at times like this.

‘I must have wanted to tell you, but it would have been dangerous.’

‘You could not trust me?’ Arthur asked, though he was not angry. He sounded resigned to it.

‘Don’t be daft,’ Merlin said. ‘It would have put you in a terrible position. Lying to your father, trying to keep me safe. And what if Uther discovered that you had been covering for me? I could not put you in that kind of danger.’

In the morning, Arthur turned, sleepy-eyed, to face him.

‘Don’t you think its weird that we never…’

Merlin snickered as Arthur’s face went a boiling shade of red. He shuffled over, kissing Arthur on the nose.

‘I bet I thought about it.’

‘Do you?’

He knew he had. He had remembered that particular nugget of information almost a week ago.

‘Definitely.’

‘I bet I did to.’

‘I doubt it. Your head was too full of tourney’s and jousting and whatever else dumb knights do with their time.’

Arthur giggled, covering his face.

‘What a prat I was.’

‘Hey, don’t say that.’ He let his eyes rove over Arthur’s face. ‘Could that be considered treason?’

‘Your the expert,’ Arthur said and shrieked when Merlin rolled over and tickled him.

-

Mr Black had decided that he should be in charge of the Christmas display.

‘No offence meant like, Merlin, but your display last year left a lot to the imagination.’

Arthur snorted from his position in the corner. The book club had chosen _A Christmas Carol_ and Arthur said that he wanted to get a head start on it this time as he always ended up finishing the pick for that meeting at the last possible moment. He still had trouble concentrating as he did not understand why someone would choose to sit for hours on end staring at paper, but he enjoyed talking with all the members of the club and it made his uncle happy to have him there, so he persisted.

‘Thanks a lot,’ Merlin said, clicking through his emails. One caught his eye: the subject line was written in capitals - CANDICE MATTHEWS. ‘Still?’ Merlin said, completely baffled that this woman had not just given up on having a book signing at his shop. He was clearly disorganised and forgetful, enough to put any writer off.

‘What?’ Arthur said.

‘Just this author who wants to come here. Hang on.’

He scanned the email, nerves sprouting in his stomach.

 _Dear Mr Hopkirk_ , it said. _I’m so sorry to bother you like this, but I’m the assistant to Willa Jones, Candice Matthews representative. I know that she came to inquire about setting up an event in your book shop quite some time ago and I did try to tell her that you likely are not interested. Willa is not really the type to take no for an answer, I’m afraid. I just want to make sure that you definitely do not want to host a book signing event with Candice Williams. Absolutely no worries if you don’t - Candice’s books are not for everyone, and please forgive me for being so informal. I feel like we may have met before? Perhaps not.  
Anyway, thank you for your time.  
All the very best,  
Gwen_

Merlin looked up from the screen. Arthur’s eyes were on him, that familiar look of dawning realisation on his face. Merlin clasped a hand to his mouth, grinning into his palm. As he did so, flakes of white drifted past the window, quiet and bright.

‘Gosh I hope that keeps up,’ Mr Black said as Arthur came round the counter to wrap Merlin up in his arms. ‘It’ll be a white Christmas and no mistake!’


End file.
